A story within a story, within a story.
In The Storyteller, Jodi Picoult is telling the story of a traumatized, socially inept, woman named Sage Singer. Sage is a baker, preferring to work alone at night and having absolutely no contact with the human race, because of the loss she'd suffered. Inside of Sage's story is the story of Josef Weber and Sage's grandmother and how they survived the Holocaust on different sides of the war. Each have been irreparably changed by the loss they'd suffered, Inside of Sage's grandmother's story is the novel that she had written in her childhood, the story of a vampire.
It was like Russian nesting dolls.
Dear Gods, all-fucking-mighty why are there vampires in every fucking story now? Weren't the concentration camps and wars full of monsters enough?
... Deep Breath ...
This was surprisingly different than Jodi Picoult's usual novel formula, though she just couldn't resist throwing the surprise twist in at the end, could she? Dear Ms. Picoult - I look for your twists now. I have them figured out halfway through your books. So, stop it. It's actually detracting from your novels.
I stayed up until almost 2am last night because I couldn't bear to put the novel down. I kept wanting to because, while the novel's fiction, the horrors of the holocaust ... they're no less horrible 50/60 years later, and the fact that similar things are still happening chills me to the bone. I guess I don't really have a lot to say about the novel.
Holocaust = bad
Vampires = beaten to death
Story = good